


The Message

by LxNaomi



Category: Death Note & Related Fandoms, Death Note (Anime & Manga)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-28
Updated: 2018-07-28
Packaged: 2019-06-17 18:09:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,805
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15467073
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LxNaomi/pseuds/LxNaomi
Summary: In an AU where he works undercover for L in the Russian Mafia, Mello is asked to deliver a message.  But the underlying meaning behind the assignment turns out to be far more than he initially realized...(I spun this off of something that happens to a character in the TV show "Lost")





	The Message

With a heavy creak, the solid wood door heaved open, briefly allowing entry to the cold, Russian wind. The young man with the yellow hair stepped inside the dimly-lit structure smelling of cedar, potato gravy, and vodka, and shut out the bitter snowstorm once again with the sole of his combat boot. Narrow green eyes beneath a black fur hood scanned the low-end, rowdy tavern, dismissing with an air of importance the Soviet thugs and the loosely dressed women. From the pocket of his long, heavy overcoat, his leather gloved hand removed a silver rectangle, and in one smooth motion, he removed the top half of the wrapper. Then returning one hand to his coat pocket, he lifted the cold, frozen chocolate bar to his teeth and snapped off a corner.

He spotted his contact against the back wall and made his way over. Biting off another piece of chocolate, he sat down opposite a man with a black beard and a bald head. A waitress promptly appeared beside him.

"Privet, krasavchik, chto tvoy napitok?"  
("Hello handsome, what are you drinking?")

"Stolichnaya," he answered simply, his preferred brand of vodka. He held up two fingers, and the waitress nodded and turned to oblige.

The bearded man leaned forward, a strong-smelling bottle of alcohol already half empty beside him. "You work for Vadim?" he inquired in Russian.

The man with the yellow hair and the chocolate bar simply nodded.

The bearded bald man maintained eye contact, his gaze narrowing as he sized up the much smaller, much younger man sitting across from him. Then he smiled a little... not a friendly smile, but the sort of smile one gives when they are quite unimpressed with what they are seeing. Several teeth were missing in the unsettling grin, and those that remained were yellowed and rotten.

"And what do they call you?" he sneered.

Another corner of chocolate snapped off as two shot glasses, containing liquor potent enough to burn away the hairs in one's nose just by smelling it, were placed onto the tabletop. In answer to the man's question, an alias was given.

Back home, he was Mello, M, Mihael Keehl, but here... here, he was

"Miklos Kozlov."  
::snap::

The burly thug nodded again. Then he tipped the bottle beside him to dribble some of the clear, alcoholic liquid into his own shot glass. He lifted it, and Mello plucked up one of his own to do the same.

"Dmitri Ivanov," he introduced himself.

Mello tilted his head toward the man opposite him, then both of them knocked back their shots.

"Naturally, you know who I work for," Dmitri slurred a bit, the Russian words tumbling from his lips like water bubbling over jagged rocks.

Of course Mello knew who this man worked for. This man was employed by the very weapons dealer the great detective L was after. He went by the name of Feliks, and he was the sole purpose for Mello's undercover infiltration into the Russian Mafia.

But naturally, Mello said none of this. He simply nodded and replied, "Da."

"Good." Dmitri's voice was thick like molasses, though nowhere near as sweet. "He wants you to send a... a little message to someone who has not been very cooperative lately." He spoke the words in a sneer laced with twisted power.

::snap::  
"So..." Mello began around the chocolate in his mouth. "...you want someone like me... just to deliver a message?"

Dmitri nodded as more alcohol tumbled into his shot glass.

"What's the message?" Mello tipped his head and threw back his second shot of Russian vodka.

Dmitri shrugged. "Feliks is displeased. That should be clear enough, yes?"

Mello stared at the man, his gaze cold and narrow. It seemed simple enough. Too simple.

"Alright," he agreed finally. "Just tell me where to go."

Plain and simple, Dmitri rattled off a name and address.

Mello nodded and stood, tossing some Rubles onto the wooden table. Then he headed back toward the door and out into the bitter wind.

He arrived shortly thereafter at the specified address, and he made his way across the snowy path to the front door of a humble and run-down home, barely more than a wooden hut. His leather-gloved knuckles knocked three times.

A small man, older than Mello, answered the door. At the sight of the expensive fur coat, the man opened the door further, asking his guest inside. He shut out the cold and turned trembling toward Mello.

"What do you want?" he asked, his eyes full of fear.

Mello took a moment to scan his surroundings. The place was old and shabby, though clean. The furniture and the kitchen appliances all appeared to be decades old, and the entire place was essentially one big room, save for a dingy bedroom and a sad-looking bathroom off toward the back. Mello's green eyes then came to rest on a little girl sitting quietly on the frayed rug by the couch. She held a cat on her lap and looked at him through icy blue eyes. She had wispy, platinum blonde hair, and she wore a plain cotton shirt dress.

"Feliks is displeased with you," Mello spoke at last, returning his attention to the frightened man before him.

"P-please, sir..." the man cowered. "Not in front of my daughter."

Mello's brow furrowed. His hands in his coat pockets, he glanced over to the little girl again, who was holding the grey striped cat against her with both arms. He cleared his throat.

"Well... I suggest you remedy the situation immediately," he said coolly.

The man's head came up. "But... that's... that's it?"

Mello shrugged. "That's it. That's the message."

"Oh thank you! The Saints bless you!" The man reached out to clasp Mello's arm gratefully, leaving L's undercover agent very confused. But, all in a day's work, he supposed...

He returned to the hotel he was staying in, and turned in for the night.

Two days later, there was a loud knock on his door. Mello shut his laptop and made his way over to answer it, and was rather unpleasantly greeted by Vadim, leader of the Russian Mafia, bursting into his room.

"Uh... come on in," Mello snarked, still standing with his hand on the door as Vadim and two of his thugs marched inside and turned to face him in the middle of the room.

Vadim was a broad-chested man with his hair buzzed close to his head. He had a gold tooth, and he wore a fur-lined leather jacket.

"KOZLOV! Give me one good reason why I shouldn't shoot you in the head right here and now!"

Mello calmly shut the door, then turned to face the Mafia leader, crossing his arms. "Well, for starters, I have no idea why you've come calling. Care to help a guy out?"

"For gods sake, Kozlov!" Vadim exploded, shoving Mello up against the door, both his burly hands gripping his shirt. "We got a job from Feliks, and you just had to go and screw it up!"

Mello glared at Vadim, despite the fact that the giant of a men could quite literally squish him like an ant. "I was asked to deliver a message, and I did! What's your problem?"

"Oh, oh you delivered a message?" Vadim let go, shoving Mello against the door and turning to pace a few steps. "So... so what, you... you walked up to the door, knocked, then said, 'Hey! Here's a message from Feliks!'"

The sarcasm was so strong, but Mello shot it right back.

"Yeah, that's EXACTLY what I did! 'Send a message... Tell him Feliks is displeased...' That's WHAT I DID, Vadim, what the-"

"Okay, listen here, hot shot..." Vadim was in his face again, smelling strongly of cologne and liquor. "Go with Igor here. He'll show you how to properly deliver a MESSAGE!" He roared the last word, slamming his fist into the door right by Mello's ear as he did so.

Vadim flung open the door, shoving Mello forcefully out into the hallway. They made their way down to the parking lot, Vadim getting into a luxury vehicle driven by one of his thugs, and Mello getting into an equally extravagant car with the second mafia member, Igor.

Mello said nothing on the drive to the poor man's house. He was starting to get the picture. Apparently "delivering a message" had a much more violent context than he had initially understood... and the .357 Magnum on Igor's lap was only confirming this.

Mello swallowed. This was not going to turn out well... but the last thing he could do was blow his cover.

The car pulled up in front of the same shabby house Mello had visited two nights prior. Igor got out, tucking the weapon into a holster inside his coat, and started toward the house, motioning for Mello to follow. Their footsteps crunched in the snow as they made their way up the crooked walkway, and all at once, Mello knew what he had to do.

Picking up his pace, his shoved his way past Igor and to the front door. He pounded on it with his fist.

"Open up!" he bellowed, his fist repeatedly thudding against the simple wooden door.

It opened, and the same man stood there. His face paled in terror, and Mello stormed inside, his eyes blazing as he removed his gloves.

"Sir, what-" the shaking man began, but his words were cut short.

Mello grabbed the man by his collar and punched him hard in the jaw. The man stumbled back, but Mello held him upright, pounding him again and again with his balled-up fist. He let him drop to the floor and lunged atop him, beating him over and over until the blood on his knuckles was mixed with his own. At last, he gripped the man's collar and jerked him up face-to-bloody face.

"You WILL pay Feliks what you owe him!" he snarled.

The broken man nodded, barely still conscious.

Mello released his grip, but not before leaning in and hissing through gritted teeth, "I just saved your life!"

He stood to his feet, his heart pounding and his hand throbbing. The man's blood was spattered on his coat and on his face, and he lifted his wrist to wipe some of it away from his mouth.

And as he turned to go, a knot instantly formed in his stomach as his emerald gaze made contact with those icy blue eyes again, belonging to the girl with the wispy hair and the tabby cat. She was crouched in a corner and just looking at him through glistening tears.

Mello looked away. His strides took him back outside, past Igor in the doorway. His eyes straight ahead, bitter like the Soviet wind, he muttered coldly,

"He got the message."


End file.
